It starts.
Welp… we’re moving! Eventually. Soon-ish (hopefully). In like 2/2.5/3 years. The timeline depends on a lot of factors because we’ll be building (!!!) our dream house (!!!!) on a beautiful piece of property on Vashon Island (!!!!!) that as of this week we now officially own (!!!!!!).
We want to be realistic about the process and how long it’s going to take, and we’ve watched enough HGTV (only kind of joking) to know that construction projects rarely wrap up on time and on budget. Not only that, if the process of building on the island comes with any of the complexity that purchasing this piece of property did, we’re in for quite an education.
With that in mind, we thought it would be fun (and likely occasionally therapeutic?) to have this space to document as we turn this empty lot into a home. Follow along, why don’t you!
For this first post, I thought we’d share a little bit about what makes this place special, and why we’re choosing island life.
So first: why Vashon? If you’re not familiar with Vashon, it’s an island near Seattle, accessible only by boat (and by air technically; there is a small airport). Drive-on ferries to Vashon run from West Seattle, Tacoma, and the peninsula, in addition to a pedestrian water taxi from downtown. The island has a very rural feel in spite of that proximity, largely thanks to its relative inaccessibility but also because of land and building ordinances designed to retain its agrarian character and protect its pristine wilderness. But unlike a lot of rural Washington, it also wears its independent spirit and progressive politics on its sleeve. To illustrate the vibe: on our first visit to look at properties, we saw a John Deere tractor flying a Black Lives Matter flag and a Venmo-powered honor-system farm stand peddling zoodles. Those are two very different things but I felt very good about them both!
I’ve wanted to bail on the city and move to a farm in the middle of nowhere, where I can have packs of Appenzellers and maybe a goat and never look at a computer again for a while now. Tim’s a little more realistic about our need for neighbors and community and access to a decent pizza spot, and he’s capped the dog count at two. Vashon strikes the balance. It feels rural and wild and secluded and remote, but it’s also got a great little town and is only a 20-minute ferry from Seattle. If and when we ever enter the COVID After Times and are going back to work in offices, it’ll be a slightly longer commute for me but basically the same for Tim.
Especially now that Baby Anna is in the picture, getting out of Seattle feels… imperative. Tim grew up in a small town in Eastern Kentucky, and I grew up in Issaquah when it was still the underdeveloped forests of unincorporated King County. It matters to us that Anna grow up with easy access to the outdoors, that she can run through the woods in her own backyard, play without us hovering over her, be barefoot outside in northwest summers from sunup to sundown. As much as we love our little 1920s Fremont house, it’s on a very busy street, and highly supervised urban park visits just don’t feel like the kind of imagination-fostering, free-range nature-immersion play that I had as a kid and that I want her to have, too.
Also, we have two dogs with a LOT of energy, and they deserve some room to roam, as well—not to mention something to bark at other than the Metro buses that cruise past our window every 5 to 25 minutes.
Basically, Vashon totally charmed us with its pockets of untouched wilderness, its idyllic small-town atmosphere (guys they have an annual strawberry parade!), and its promise of a quiet, country lifestyle just a short cruise from the city. Before we’d even found our lot, we were fantasizing about friends and family coming over to stay for the weekend and the days we’d fill with beach walks, farm stand stops, and tasting tours around the island’s breweries, wineries, and cideries.
But we weren’t (and aren’t) quite there yet.
After traipsing through woods and wetlands visiting various lots (9 months pregnant btw, so fun to indulge this extreme manifestation of a nesting instinct at such an impractical time), our island realtor took us to a spot called Madrona Cove. If we’d known then how complicated the journey to closing would be, on top of having a newborn, we honestly might have walked away. But we were optimistic; there were some utilities already in place at the property, and something about the land just spoke to us. It was a level meadow, flanked by evergreens, with a bluff that dropped off to reveal a view of the deep blue waters of Colvos Passage through the trees. We could picture the house there, opening up to the view and a sprawling lawn, bathed in sunlight but still tucked away in wooded seclusion. Not only that, but as part of a small, ecologically minded, and to-be-developed development, it came with shared ownership of 35 acres of wooded land with trails and access to a stunning private beach.
We fell in love, and the day after Anna was born we put together an offer. The next few months were a Learning Experience™ to say the LEAST. We extended closing twice. We talked to lawyers, county officials, surveyors, septic engineers, title officers, and developers. We staked out easements on the site, took colored markers to print-outs of maps like we were piecing together a crime scene, brainstormed with our architect, tested water, and lost a drone (RIP). We took a lot of ferry rides. We’ll share more on the feasibility process in future posts, along with more details on the lot itself (and what makes it a bit complicated). Suffice it to say, we didn’t know what we were doing! Now we know SO MUCH about what we should have been doing.
For now: we’re popping the metaphorical champagne (Tim’s more of a bourbon guy) and celebrating the fact that this little slice of the northwest is ours. We’re very excited to start designing, start planning, and start building, and really excited to document everything we learn along the way right here.
Check back in here to keep up with what we’re up to! We’ll be sharing the good, the bad, and the boring. Something for everyone.